


Life Isn't Eternal, But Our Love Is Immortal

by SherlockItsOnlyLogical



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Showering, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feels, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I just love these idiots so much, John Watson Has Feelings, Not Canon Compliant, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, This fic gives me a lot of feelings, Widowed, post Mary's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockItsOnlyLogical/pseuds/SherlockItsOnlyLogical
Summary: What should have happened after Mary died





	Life Isn't Eternal, But Our Love Is Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any mistakes. Brace yourself for all of these feelings.

“I’m so sorry, John,” Sherlock sobbed, looking down at the doctor who was holding his now dead wife in his arms.

“Sherlock,” John choked out, looking up the the detective. He felt lost. This couldn’t really be happening right? 

The paramedics rushed in and John let them lift the lifeless woman from his lap, trying to ignore the sympathetic looks they were giving him. Mary was gone long before they arrived, John knew that. There would be no bringing her back.

Sherlock knelt beside John and placed his hand gently on the blonde’s shoulder. “John, let’s go home. I’ll help you.” 

Home. Where was home now? To go back to the house he had shared with his now deceased spouse didn’t feel right. 221B? Would that become home again? John let his thoughts wander as Sherlock pulled him from the ground and let him out of the building and into a car.

When they arrived Sherlock gently, hesitantly took the widow’s hand and directed him out of the car, into the doors, and up the stairs. When they were safely inside the little piece of the world that John had always sworn seemed safe from the outside world despite the mayhem that overtook it frequently, Sherlock gently removed John’s jacket and directed him toward the bathroom.

“John, I’m going to help you bathe, is that okay?” Sherlock placed his hand on John’s cheek to move his head up so he could look into the vacant blue eyes of his best friend. John simply nodded and returned his eyes back to his downward glance.

Sherlock adjusted the water temperature until it was satisfactory before turning back to the older man. Sherlock gently removed John’s clothing trying not to make the moment seem to intimate, but not wanting to rush him either. When John was stripped down Sherlock walked him over to the shower and stepped in behind him, still fully clothed.

“Sherlock,” John looked at him confused. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”

“It’s okay. I’m just going to take care of you, John. Relax. Breathe. I’m here for you.” John slumped easily against his best friend and sighed as Sherlock’s nimble fingers massaged shampoo into his scalp. 

“Thank you,” John breathed. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, knowing that the bottom of the shower would be tinged pink from his wife's blood running off of his body. So instead John focused on what he feel, hear, and smell around him, a tactic he’d learned in the military to help him out of these moments where he felt disconnected from reality. Sherlock’s thin fingers were stroking through his hair, the soap suds trickling lightly down the side of his face, the smooth material of Sherlock’s wet button down against his back, the soft smell of the shampoo, the sound and feeling water hitting his body. Slowly John was coming back to himself as Sherlock began washing his body, but he remained still and silent.

He tried not to let his brain think of the peculiar nature of this situation. He was naked as the day he was born with Sherlock Holmes pressed to his back, fully clothed, as he bathed him. Long ago John had fantasized about showering with his best friend, but he had never imagined that it would look like this when it finally happened. So much had changed between now and then. John had moved out of 221B, gotten married, had a child. But now life was changing again and he had no idea where it was headed. 

When Sherlock had finished bathing his friend, he pulled John from the shower and began towelling him dry. Even when he was married, John had never been tended to this thoroughly. The actions seemed too intimate, but he was trying not to overthink it. Sherlock was only trying to be a good friend. 

When John was dry Sherlock quickly pulled his sopping wet shirt from his body and wrapped the towel around his head in an attempt to minimize the amount of water that would trail the floor as he led John to bed. When they arrived in Sherlock’s bedroom, the detective handed him a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt before tending to himself, grabbing clothing and returning to the bathroom to change. When he returned the towel had been abandoned and his wet curls laid in a mess atop his head. John was seated on the bed, looking up at his companion now, but he still looked lost.

“John, you can stay in here tonight,” Sherlock began.

“What about you?” John averted his eyes again.

“You know I don’t have a regular sleep schedule, I’ll be fine,” Sherlock responded, looking at his fried with a great deal of concern. 

John began settling himself into Sherlock’s bed but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want to be alone tonight, but he couldn’t really ask Sherlock to stay with him, could he? After several moments Sherlock turned to leave, but John reached out and grabbed the detectives hand. When Sherlock turned back to him, John forced himself to keep his eyes connected to Sherlock’s. “Stay,” he whispered.

Sherlock smiled gently down at the army doctor and nodded, John was generally too proud to ask for comfort, how could he deny him when he was desperate enough to ask for it? Sherlock moved to the other side of the bed and laid down before he realized he had no clue what the protocol was here. Did John just want him to be here with no physical contact? Did he want to talk? Did he want to be held? Sherlock decided he would stay still until John initiated the next movement.

It took several minutes. Both men were on their backs staring at the ceiling when Sherlock gave in and placed a hand softly on John’s shoulder. It seemed as though the dam broke with that because in an instant John’s face was pressed to the younger man’s chest and violent sobs were released as his body shook violently. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor, one hand going to card fingers gently through John’s hair. Sherlock made no attempt to speak, he just remained a solid presence for the doctor to rely on.

“Sherlock,” John spoke, his voice rough. It had felt like hours later when the sobs had subsided and Sherlock had thought his companion had fallen asleep. It appeared his was wrong.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock whispered gently, still scared to make too much noise.

“I-” John paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Thank you. For taking care of me. You didn’t have to, but you did and I really appreciate it.”

“Of course I had to, John. I couldn’t leave you like that, I-” Sherlock quickly halted himself, he definitely couldn’t say that right now.

“You..?” John questioned of the abrupt stop.

“Nothing. I didn’t mean to say that. I suppose my brain is exhausted,” Sherlock tried to brush it off.

“Oh,” John whispered with what Sherlock was sure he was misinterpreting as disappointment.

The men remained in silence for several minutes, only the sound of their breathing between them. Sherlock slowly tipped his head down so his nose was almost touching John’s now dry hair and inhaled slowly, John had always calmed him simply by existing. Sherlock dedicate the smell of John’s fresh washed hair to his memory, safe keeping for the next time he was feeling overwhelmed by the world around him. John centered him. Brought him back to reality. Sherlock had always hoped that something greater would develop between him and his best friend, but after the fall, after he had betrayed his friend so greatly, nothing had ever been the same and the possibility faded away with Sherlock’s hope. John had fallen in love while he was gone and Sherlock had stood aside as the only person he had ever loved got married and started a family. 

And now, only hours after the man’s wife had died, Sherlock had almost thought it appropriate to make a love confession. Not one of his best moments.

John slowly slid into unconsciousness and Sherlock was left alone with his thoughts. John should hate him, truly. Sherlock was the reason that his daughter no longer had a mother, that he was now a widow and a single parent. Sherlock couldn’t just keep his mouth shut for once and it had almost resulted in his own death but Mary had intervened. Why had she done that? Surely John needed her more than he needed Sherlock. 

His thoughts continued through the night as the sun rose and flooded the room with natural light and John began to stir awake. John yawned and slowly opened his eyes. He smiled when he realized Sherlock was still there with his arms wrapped around him. “Good morning,” John whispered, his voice still a little bit rough from crying.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes and John looked at him with confusion.

“Are you okay, Sherlock?” John asked, voice full of concern.

“Yes, John. Fine. I should be the one asking you that.”

John sighed, “I supposed I’m doing as well as can be expected, Sherlock.” John paused. Something was bothering the detective and he was going to figure out what it was. John lifted one of his arms and brushed it through Sherlock’s hectic curls, “However, this was traumatic for you too. Are you okay?”

“John, why are you still being so kind to me?” Sherlock’s voice sounded as though he was on the verge of tears and he was still refusing to meet John’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” John furrowed his brow in confusion. Why would he be anything less than kind?

“John, I’m the reason that your wife is dead. I had to do what I’ve always done and act clever even when everyone told me to stop. And now Mary is dead because she saved my life.” John could see a couple tears trailing down the detectives jaw and he went to speak, but Sherlock beat him to it. “She shouldn’t have done it. You need her.”

“Sherlock, stop this right now,” John’s voice was bordering on anger and it took Sherlock by surprise enough to make him look down at the army doctor. “It is not your fault, Sherlock. Mary made the decision to save your life for a reason. Mary saved your life because-” John’s throat closed up a little, was he really going to do this right now? “She saved your life because she knew. She’s always known.”

“Known what?” Sherlock was now the confused party as he looked down at his friend.

“From the moment you returned, she’s known that I would never be able to love her the way that I love you, Sherlock. She knew that if I had to live without one of you I would always choose to have you,” John was crying now as he looked up at the detective. “She saved your life because she knew it also meant saving my own.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered, unsure that he was understanding correctly.

“Sherlock, it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” John smiled sadly at his companion whose head was downturned with his eyes shut. The doctor shifted his hand to gently stroke the detective’s high cheekbone. 

“John, you misunderstand,” Sherlock spoke softly, opening his eyes to look into John’s own bright blues. “I am struggling to convey my own emotions, but I assure you, John, I do reciprocate.” Sherlock tipped his head down cautiously, allowing John the opportunity to pull away from the gesture. He didn’t. 

The moment their lips met both men knew that things were going to work out. Their lives would continue on. The pain, the heartache, the loss, would all be manageable so long as they had each other.


End file.
